Live From New York, It's Saturday Night
by iamladyliberty
Summary: So Rachel tells him that she's supposedly hosting Saturday Night Live. Puck has his doubts. Here's how it all goes down.   One-shot from the P/R drabble meme.


a/n finally writing for PR. I blame Mel, this awesome prompt from gomez23, and all you lovely people of the P/R drabble meme

* * *

Even though he's sitting here as part of the live studio audience in this special VIP section with all these total badasses of comedy who still drop in on things, he still can't believe this is happening. She invited (commanded) him to be here as soon as the dates firmed up, but he still had doubts cause she could be punking him. Wouldn't be the first time.

She'd made him watch the promo on her laptop like 14 times in a row- "Hi, I'm Rachel Berry, the Broadway STAR, and I'll be hosting Saturday Night Live. Oh and I'm also the musical guest. And maybe I'll do a little dance for you, too, if you promise to watch." Horatio Sanz throws his hands in the air right behind her and shouts "Triple Threat, Baby!" Hair toss over her shoulder, one big RB* wink at the camera.

Fucking adorable, but he still thinks it could be a scam.

Cause the thing is, this just _isn't_ her thing.

* * *

Here's how it started.

Three months ago, she met him for drinks at their secret dive bar rendezvous spot in Chinatown where he can get her mega tipsy without fear of a 'chance encounter with a member of her adoring public' (her words, obvs.) He'd just handed her her regular 'Grey Goose, up, light ice, splash of cranberry with a double twist, thank you' bullshit he _hated_ ordering when she dropped the news on him that she was asked to host.

He'd just laughed and tipped his glass to her with a "Nice one, Berry, but not buying it".

They went back and forth about it, but he doesn't need his whole brain to banter with her, shit's been like autopilot for him for years, so he went over his evidence in his head and concluded no fucking way was she really doing this.

First off, she always claimed to 'not grasp the point' of sketch comedy. Whenever somebody tried showing her some hilarious shit on youtube or whatever, she'd put on a pinched smile and suffered through it.

Case in point: Failure to appreciate the classics. Woman didn't even laugh at 'Dick in a Box'! Honestly, he'd wondered (out loud, oops) that day if she was a little like that Robot Chick Vickie cause how else could you explain that?

Course, since she was Berry, she answered him with way too many fucking words. "Poor Justin," she tutted, "having to suffer such indignities while struggling to assert his individuality after gaining recognition primarily through the homogeneity of a boy band."

He just shook his head and shrugged at that one, cause he always considered his boy JT the only non-homo in that bunch, right? (what? sexy back never failed to get the ladies all worked up and grindy-grindy, no lie.) He kept his mouth shut though, cause gay/totally gay/not gay was a touchy subject around Rachel.

Okay, so second reason this had to be a prank was that she'd have to hand over a solid week of performances to her bloodthirsty demonqueen of an understudy to meet the SNL rehearsal schedule. A whole week without a spotlight beaming right on her might legit make Rachel Berry shrivel up and die, and nobody wanted that.

Shit, if this ended up being true, he'd have to make a mental note to just randomly clap for her doing everyday shit that week to try and keep her from getting too cranky. An under-appreciated Rachel Berry was a _bitchy_ Rachel Berry, and Hummel was still recovering from that last time when she was between shows.

Ugly business, that was. He's gotta manage her crazy better this time to keep that shit from happening again. LadyDude is still afraid of cravats.

Anyway, third and final reason he knows he's being played is something he still feels really fucking guilty about. Cause they both know how the show works, that for at least the opening monolog and probably a couple of skits, she's gonna be on camera as herself. As Rachel Berry, with no character to hide behind or play into.

And he's seen how years of people laughing _at_ her makes her still always question it a little when people are laughing _with_ her. That nervous tightening of her shoulders when she makes a joke, and the way it resolves into a shy uncertain smile for a second when people start cracking up before she believes them and her smile turns deep and real. Not like he watches her all the fucking time or anything. (_shut up._)

But whatever, he's her best friend, has been for years, and he _knows_ this girl. Live on camera, broadcasting out across America into 30 million people's living rooms, and she's gotta be absolutely funny for almost 90 minutes or risk being named another January Jones? Uh huh. Girl's hella ambitious, but also terrifyingly precise in her risk assessment. He once found her chart diagramming _'Levels of Nudity and Corresponding Requirements of Probable Recognition and Reward'/_ where she laid out what was mandatory payback for each inch of Bared Berry.

Yeah, he snagged it. 'Course. (fuck you. it was hot.)

So yeah, she's fucking hilarious, but she still doesn't know it. So now he'd reached his conclusion: either this is a joke, or there was something else going on here.

Once that locked into place, he changed tactics from answering her with "Fo' real, Rach? Un huh" and all that other shit that had her giggling and nodding and insisting, all fucking cute. He'd narrowed his eyes and looked right into hers, "Alright Princess, what aren't you telling me? What they offer you?"

He'd totally caught her look of surprise before she got herself together. Yeah, he'd called it. Damn he was good. When she'd stayed quiet, he jut his chin out just to let her know he was serious and he was gonna get an answer. "C'mon, Rach, quit stalling. There's some other reason you're gonna do this, right? What'd they offer you?"

Her mouth did that scrunchy smile thing he likes, like she does when she's gonna be all clever, and answers mysteriously, "As always, I'm impressed with your powers of perception. But it wasn't what they offered me, it took them agreeing to meet my very special request to seal the deal, Noah."

* * *

She'd spent the rest of the night and the past 3 months refusing to tell him what exactly that 'very special request' was.

He'd spent the rest of the night and the last three months re-living her sweet little mouth saying 'seal the deal, Noah'. (no, seriously, just fuck off already, alright? _not_ his fault. _She's_ the one all _'impressed with his powers'_ and shit.)

So now here he is, watching her kill the fucking monolog and make the whole goddamn country fall in love with her. He's super pumped it's going so well, but he's still waiting for the big reveal and a little tense if he's being honest. He just wants it to be worth it for her.

He's pretty damn proud of her for letting her guard down and allowing the writers to draw upon shit from her real life. The 'My Two (Gay) Dads' sketch a few minutes in was awesome, and yeah, that was totally how it was back in the day to be brought home as a Berry Boyfriend and feel a little vulnerable when being called a 'Suitor' at the dinner table, and like he was being simultaneously scoped out and checked out and not knowing if popping the guns would work for him or against him, and ...whatever, good fucking work writers, you nailed it.

Her first song was her crossover hit, and yeah, it was still as sexy and breathy as always, even though she'd been yukking it up in a playground sketch as an 8 year old three minutes ago, so that was cool and all.

Right now he's watching her with a pit in his stomach that's sinking deeper and deeper by the second. Rachel's in the middle of a 10-year high school reunion sketch playing herself (a Star), rocking a Tracy Jordan-style EGOT big bling necklace around her tiny neck and concluding each catch up convo with the former jocks and cheerleaders who used to make her life hell by reaching behind her to her wall of bodyguards carrying drink trays and hurling a slushie at each lima loser sucking up to her now. Fuck.

Now he knows the two of them are way past that shit together (she's made him let it go). And he knows that she's talked about it a lot in interviews, especially at the beginning of her career when people kept wanting to know what she was like in high school, and she always told the reporters that it was way worse than it sounded, they should see it some time, so it could just be coincidence or something the writers picked up on.

But now he's here watching her do this on live television and he's totally scared that this is her big secret, her big request that she made SNL agree to. That she'd seen a revenge skit with slushies, practically guaranteed to be watched by those assholes that used to treat her like shit back in the day, as a worthwhile tradeoff for risking making a fool out of herself in front of them and the rest of America.

And as the stage went dark for a set change, all he could think was practicing what he needed to say to her over and over in his head. "Fuck, B., I thought that this was all behind you. Babe, you've got nothing left to prove to anyone, especially not them. What the fuck am I gonna have to say or do to get that through to you" and all sorts of working himself up and feeling emotional and shit. It didn't help that the set stayed dark during the entire commercial break and that he had no idea what was coming next or how his girl was holding it together. Fuck. _Fuck_.

He was so distracted that it took the audiences excited roar to come back to the moment after the lights came up. It took him a second, but when he recognized the scene in front of him his heart fucking soared in his chest and he felt a bajillion times better.

Cause sitting on a tiny black leather sofa were two women in ugly ass sweaters and big hair. One was Rachel. And for the first time in over 20 years, the other was Linda Richmond.

The next 4 and half minutes were fucking pure comedy gold, while Rachel and Mike Myers took the gloves off and aggressively debated Barbra Streisand's greatest appearances on stage and screen.

It was _so_ funny, _so_ good, and _so fucking_ Rachel. He wasn't even sure it was scripted. She sounded exactly like his mother, but was 100% Crazy Berry as she scored points on some obscure shit she used to rattle off at him back in high school.

When it ended with a plea for Barbra to call in herself to settle their argument, and then the grand old lady DID (seriously, Babs was like nearing 80 and still sharp as a tack on speakerphone) the whole place was going nuts.

And he was so fucking proud of her. She gave everyone the biggest thrill the show had seen in years, while being _absofuckinglutely_ herself.

The same amazing brand of crazy she's always been, even when nobody had any clue what to do with it. God, he loves her.

Fuck, probably always had.

He watches her sing 'The Way We Were' to close out the show with a smile on his face. Girl knows how to capitalize on an opportunity better than anybody - when else are they gonna let her sing a song from a movie like 50 years old on national television ever again?

He decides that he's gonna take her out and make her get a little crazy with the cast at the after party, and then tomorrow afternoon when they wake up on her living room floor where they always crash when they get all wasted together, he's gonna tell her.

If all goes well, then he's gonna finally, finally touch _those legs_.

Mmm, like butter.

* * *

I'd love to know what you thought of this, and if you enjoyed it, if you had a favorite part or line. I'm considering trying to write more for P/R, so any feedback would be helpful. Thanks so much!


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